


This Is Not Some Twilight Shit, Sourwolf

by Llexeh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Complete (Okay Major) Disregard of Conventional Vampire Anatomy and Folklore, Dirty Talk, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild D/s Nuances, Mild Future Kink Negotiation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut, Stiles is of age, Vampire Feeding, Vampire Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llexeh/pseuds/Llexeh
Summary: Stiles didn’t think it was possible to be crushing any more desperately on Derek, but then the werewolf offered his blood after a near-death experience and, well, shit. Add some blinding pleasure and skillful tongue and Stiles was essentially screwed.





	This Is Not Some Twilight Shit, Sourwolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've finally got around to start taking requests / prompts. This came from spidey-charles over on tumblr: "Hey! I saw you had prompt requests so I was wondering if I could prompt Vampire!Stiles needing to feed and Derek just offering himself to Stiles? ^^"
> 
> I have uncharacteristically (ahem - I can literally hear Joeybelle roll her eyes from the other side of the country) ran with it and ended up with 10k of Sterek. Tbh I'm mostly happy with it, so I decided I'd post it here as well. 
> 
> Please heed the warnings, they're there for a reason. If this is not your thing - sorry! I have less disturbing / niche things coming up. If this is your cup of tea, let me know either here or on tumblr or wherever you feel comfortable communicating. 
> 
> If you're familiar with my Stony series, it's gonna be updated soon (I hope!). You'll also find Easter eggs / references from there. 
> 
> Much love! 
> 
> (Mistakes belong to me, also this isn't Yank-wanked soz) 
> 
> <3

Feeding was never easy. Stiles had Principles™ and Morals™ and he was also adamant he wouldn’t create a disruption in the ecosystem surrounding Beacon Hills. He was basically David Attenborough, if David Attenborough was a bloodsucking monster who was sorta superfast and kind to others, part of a werewolf pack whose Alpha was a Dark and Broody asshole.

Speaking of which, Derek had been surprisingly accommodating, if overly careful about dynamics and such. On his part, Stiles felt more useful in battle so his morale was improved. He was also full of Twilight jokes that got old about eight minutes after he had returned as a vampire. The adjustment period was weird. His dad was devastated, scared, and eventually supportive. Scott made it a point to scent him every day because cold skin meant no warmth to spread the scent. Stiles offered to carry a small hairdryer everywhere and earned himself a smack for it.

There was a not-so-small part of him that had hoped (once the dust settled on this new development), that he would become substantially more attractive. As a general thing, but also particularly to Derek. His stupid crush had been going on for a pathetically long time and try as hard as he might, he wasn’t able to shake it. And because his life was a joke, if dating was not happening  _before_ , dating now was definitely not happening. Not because he didn’t trust himself, but it was too dangerous for everyone involved. And not in an Edward Cullen shitty-possessive way, but the supernatural world wasn’t superkeen on vampires. And Stiles’s big mouth alone was a hazard, let alone what he had become.

So feeding was a bit of a chore. The research wasn’t great either; for some bizarre reason history hadn’t documented the rules of housekeeping vampires. How unexpected. Stiles had devised a schedule for feeding, picking older animals and draining them painlessly, occasionally accepting blood bags from Melissa when he was sure they weren’t otherwise needed. His dad donated to his culinary needs regularly, regardless of how much Stiles begged him not to.

It was less than satisfactory.

It was through a weird conjuncture that involved faeries, a talking snake, and Peter Hale that Stiles found out about obscure Ancient Greek texts describing feeding rituals. He proceeded to spend months trying to find and then decipher them enough for them to become useful. He was fortunate enough to not have to sleep, which also meant that every time Derek fell asleep in the large armchair downstairs in the loft as they worked on the translations, Stiles could take his time categorizing all the fine wrinkles and the way the werewolf’s cheekbones twitched ever-so-slightly as he dreamt, and long story short, he was crushing so fucking bad it was actually sad.

The first significant shift in Stiles’s life (other than, you know, becoming a fucking vampire after having already adhered to a pack of werewolves and other supernatural creatures, seriously what the fuck was his life?) came to be when he had a breakthrough in a particular fragment of the texts. Lydia had managed to procure a first edition dictionary of sorts and Stiles did nothing else for three days, papers and drafts covering most of the living room floor at Derek’s place.

(Stiles did have a job, thank you very much, but freelancing meant his schedule was flexible. And also he really didn’t have to sleep – 100% increased productivity, woop! And living costs decreased dramatically when you didn’t have to buy food.)

Within the feeding rituals, Stiles found information about magical rituals, as well as ways to enhance the effectiveness of blood absorption. The Greeks really were into this shit – how they dealt with the heat, Stiles had no idea. The sun was manageable, if annoying, but the heat was just the worst. In all fairness, the heat was the worst when Stiles was human, let alone now when his skin was perpetually cold.

Translating from a dead language was not fun on a normal topic, like philosophy. The supernatural gurus from antiquity probably got off on convoluted sentences. He was in the process of rephrasing some of the notes he’d taken to make sure they were correct when Derek yawned. The werewolf had been sleeping for a while, half curled up to the arm of the chair, one of his knees up, face serene and undisturbed. Derek did that sometimes. He would wake up minutely and yawn, and proceed to fall asleep again with no memory of doing it. It was the most endearing thing Stiles had ever witnessed. He had half a thought to wake the other man up and send him to his bedroom, but Stiles was selfish and would find it hard to give up the relaxing habit of looking up from his work and seeing the man asleep. This crush of his was getting out of hand.

Stiles hadn’t seen that particular page at first. He’d overlooked it due to boredom, or perhaps his ADHD was spiking, or perhaps he was crushing too hard and didn’t realise it was relevant. When he accidentally picked it up, he’d already spent so much time reading the damned things, the information seemed to pour out of the paper onto his brain. He was, for lack of a better word, shook. It was an in depth description of feeding for mates and lovers. Stiles was pretty sure that was what the word meant. The other potential translation was “potters”, but he was definitely going with “mates” for this one. The gist of it was that it was an incredible bonding experience, together with intense pleasure and contentedness. It supposedly created an extremely strong connection between mates for the duration of the feeding and the ensuring sexual intercourse as long as the blood was offered freely and the offer was backed by sentiment - it wasn’t entirely clear how that worked. There was further literature about the bond between a vampire and a human, about two vampires, and unsurprisingly none about a vampire-werewolf bond. The book explained how frowned upon it was, how intimate and now Stiles had a sharp pang of longing. He filed the information for a later time, and got up to get Derek upstairs and in an actual bed.

The second significant shift was following a rather taxing fight. Stiles had accompanied Derek and Scott on a pack-bonding trip through the preserve. He was mostly there for moral support, but also to stop them from mauling each other. With great power and all that. It was supposed to be a relaxed experience, some running and hunting for Stiles. (He was reluctant as all fuck to feed in front of the pack, and often chose to do the deed away from them, where he wouldn’t feel as judged.)

He was on such a mission, some miles away from the others, searching for a suitable animal to tide him over when he felt claws descend and slash at his back. His survival instincts (Stiles, is it survival if you’re undead?) kicked in eventually, but at that point he was finding it hard to stand up. The smell that filled his nostrils was familiar, but definitely not pack. Stray werewolf, an omega perhaps. Stiles was weakened by the wound, he hadn’t fed yet. The were growled at him, shifted and running towards him, claws out. Stiles was moderately afraid. He managed to dodge the attack, too uncertain of his strength to retaliate. Scott and Derek were not close, but he hoped they would feel his distress in the pack bonds. He kinda prayed, rather.

He took off towards where he guessed they were. The closer he got, the greater the chances that they were going to sense him and come to his aid. Among everything, Stiles’s primordial thought was that of the bond he never got to feel with Derek. With anyone. How sad. He ran, pain pulsing through his spine down his legs, lungs burning despite not needing the air. It was disconcerting, how fragile he felt, and he couldn’t help but think of before, when he was predominantly useless in fights.

The comfort of the pack smell could make him cry. The bonds vibrated, more frantic the more distance he covered. Behind him, the werewolf was relentless in his attacks, frothing at the mouth, insults tumbling from his lips.

“Abomination!” he screamed. “Blood-sucking monster!”

As if Stiles didn’t know. But also, the hypocrisy. If he hadn’t been in so much pain and so desperate to get to safety, Stiles would stop and have words with him. How pathetic. Derek. It smelled like Derek now, faint at first, then stronger, and eventually the scent enveloped Stiles in a distinct feeling of  _home_. He was safe.

His Alpha’s growl was mighty, he thought. What a beautiful sound as he rained hell on the stray. Stiles managed to stop, but he was sluggish and ended up half-colliding with a tree, propping himself up using the wide trunk. Derek was still fighting his assailant while Stiles tried to focus on willing the pain away, now slumped on the wet forest floor. His back was on fire, his usually cold skin burning under the open wound. Derek slashed at the stray’s chest and blood soaked his shirt instantly. Stiles salivated involuntarily. So much for Pavlov jokes, he’d never live this down.

“Derek,” he managed, eyes glazed over. The hunger was real. The pain was just as real.

The Alpha stopped, one hand holding the kneeling werewolf’s head while the other one prepared to slash his throat. He looked up in understanding. Dragging the injured stray over to Stiles, he presented him to his vampire pack member.

“Don’t you dare,” the werewolf managed, blood bubbling on his lips. “I’d rather be mauled than have this monster touch me!”

Stiles felt the sting of that, but his primal instinct was to feed and survive. He started to move, trying not to fall down further and have to crawl, unsure if he could take the embarrassment.

Derek knew, though, the way Derek always knew. “Shut it,” the Alpha growled, and stepped behind the stray, covering his bloody mouth with his clawed hand. He pulled the other werewolf’s head back, and held the side of his throat to Stiles’s now desperate trembling lips.

Stiles wasted no time latching on, fangs piercing the skin with relative ease, hot blood flowing into his mouth. The werewolf screamed, Derek’s hand pressing harder to minimise the noise. After the initial relief of feeding and feeling the pain dulling, Stiles  _felt more_. As a general rule, blood was delicious to Stiles. He’d discussed it with Boyd of all people one night when they were watching reruns of wedding tv shows on TLC. Boyd was discreet and Stiles trusted him implicitly. He wasn’t proud of taking pleasure in feeding. It wasn’t something he’d wished for, and it was difficult to come to terms to no matter how much he tried.

But this blood. Werewolf blood. Stiles had never. He’d never even presumed to ask, and no one offered, not even for science. It wasn’t something he was comfortable doing anyway, so he would find it extremely difficult. But werewolf blood was the best thing he had ever encountered. He imagined heaven would feel like that, like hot blood flowing straight down his throat, the taste rich, almost smoky.

Stiles could swear he felt his veins tingling. His entire body shook with what he eventually understood to be pleasure. The thrashing made the blood flow easier into his mouth, and Stiles refused to think of how he was draining a living person. With little to no control over his actions, he lifted his eyes to look at Derek. Alpha Derek. His Alpha. Who had provided for him in his time of need. Who was still providing for him as he pushed the dying werewolf down while Stiles fed. He felt his heart swell up with the implications. To his complete mortification, his dick followed shortly.

He was unsure why his anatomy decided it was Hard Dick Time, but it was happening, oh-my-god-was-it-happening. Derek breathed in deeply, and Stiles  _knew_. There was no mistaking the smell of his arousal, the quickening of his phantom heartbeat that happened whenever he fed. There was no mistaking the prominent tent in Stiles’s jeans as he kneeled sucking the blood and life out of his attacker. There was no mistaking Derek’s wandering gaze travelling down straight to his crotch. Stiles moaned, the mortification now complete. He shut his eyes and focused on the taste once more, resigned that his eternal life included getting a raging hard-on because of werewolf blood while his Alpha watched.

The aftermath was infinitely less glorious than the feeding. After making sure he was okay, Scott’s mocking was merciless. Derek kept quiet, mildly amused at the situation while Stiles was sure that if he could still blush properly, he’d be flushed to shit. And Scott may have been his best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother, but Scott had a big mouth and as soon as he opened it, the entire pack knew. Stiles considered moving on the East Coast out of spite. Derek never mentioned it. Not once, and Stiles was grateful.

But Derek was almost imperceptibly different. There were brief touches, nowhere near as lingering as Stiles would have liked them. Brief touches on his shoulder when he got up to go to the kitchen. Brief touches to say thank you to Stiles for cooking for the pack. Brief touches when Stiles went home. A particular touch on the back of his head after Stiles saved Erica’s life when they were ambushed by hunters. Stiles kept them all filed for later, for when he was sure he was alone in his bedroom back at his dad’s house.

And he had revoked his own right to Pavlov jokes once and for all since every time he thought of that time in the forest his brain supplied him with not only the memory of the greatest tasting blood he’d ever tried, but with Derek’s red eyes on his mouth as he aggressively sucked the life out of the stray werewolf. And every time that particular image popped into his mind he would get instantly hard. It was a nuisance, but some of his strongest orgasms have been achieved on all fours, three fingers up his own ass, moaning Derek’s name into his pillow thinking of those eyes on his feeding.

There was no doubt his kind had their own mating instincts because all Stiles wanted to do every time he allowed himself to think about Derek was to envelop him in hugs and proceed to keep him close for eternity. He wanted to occupy Derek’s entire attention, wanted the world to revolve around him, and more than anything he wanted to feel the tug of the bond he had read about. It was heartbreaking.

None of them knew how the word got out, but it was unanimously believed to have been a coven of witches Stiles pissed off this one time. The important thing was that everyone in the supernatural world (and their fucking mother) knew there was a vampire in the Hale pack. Which attracted territory claims and overzealous contenders who felt they had something to prove. And hunters. So. Many. Fucking. Hunters.

Sometimes Derek ordered Stiles to stay back. He’d flash his eyes and growl and Stiles would nod and leave the loft as soon as he counted to thirty Mississippi. They always “had words” afterwards, and Stiles spent hours stripping his cock thinking of the way Derek’s chest looked when he crossed his arms over it in displeasure.

Stiles was not prepared to live forever. He didn’t like thinking about it, he didn’t even like the occasional thought that made him realise he would outlive his father by an eternity. His friends would all eventually die as well. But what he did realise on a regular basis was that in an eternal life there was an infinity of circumstances that could change its course. It was with this distinct thought that he found himself being carried to safety by Derek. If he had the energy he would have huffed. What was even the point in being immortal and having this extra power if he was still weak?

The pack had all left for the weekend. It was Derek’s stoicism and stubborn nature that made him stay, while Stiles promised that as soon as he’d finish his work, he would pack Derek up and shove him in the jeep and drag him out as well. It was impractical at best, what with Beacon Hills being a magnet for all things shitty and all. But it appeased them enough for them to go. Stiles had little to no inclination of joining them at the beach. It wasn’t the most fun of times to be slowly burning even in the shade. And Derek was territorial beyond words so there was no way he was being taken away from his ancestral lands.

Stiles was the first one to feel the change in the wards Deaton and him had set up. He’d let Derek now and got up to leave as well. The Alpha did his usual routine of huffing and puffing as he put shoes on, and for once Stiles was inclined to listen. It passed quickly, two hundred Mississippi, and he was out the door, running towards where he felt the wards change.

It was a good thing, Stiles would argue that until the end of time. Derek was kneeling on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, thick wolfsbane-coated chains holding him in place while two hunters shocked him time and again with high voltage. Stiles took them out first. Neck snaps, clean and nice. The others turned their focus on him, probably considering Derek too weakened to react. He was mid-fight with one of the remaining three when he felt the sharp pierce of a metal arrow in the shoulder pinning him to the wall. A second arrow got him a couple of inches lower than the first. He instantly knew something wasn’t right.

Their research hadn’t produced too many results about ways to debilitate a vampire, but there were spells and potions used to weaken them. Given how rare they were these days, it was improbable they would affect Stiles. And, Derek had added, Stiles wouldn’t even be in fights that much. Which, yes, was at least stupid, but at the time it had been pointless to argue. Now, as Stiles’s vision had started to blur, he really wished they’d paid more attention to the literature.

He came to as Derek was carrying him presumably back to safety. Stiles was content with knowing that Derek was alive. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable and he whimpered as he was jolted by Derek’s running. The Alpha slowed down and shushed him, cradling him gently.

“Derek?” he asked, confused.

“I’m not sure what it is, we’ll get you home in no time,” Derek replied.

Stiles coughed then and his world went red with pain. He felt it diminishing and watched as black vines appeared on Derek’s neck and jaw. He wanted to argue against it, but the relief was too great.

“How can I pass out if I don’t even sleep?” Stiles asked slowly, trying to focus on his words.

Derek’s lips curled upwards momentarily. “You’re such an idiot,” he replied.

  
To Stiles’s great relief, they were back at the loft. Derek deposited him on the large sofa in the living room and knelt in front of him. He disposed of Stiles’s bloody shirt and frowned at the sight.

“What is it, doc?” Stiles asked, trying to lighten the mood despite the difficulty he had formulating words. When there was no reply, he looked down. One of the arrows was still lodged under his clavicle and it  _burned_. The wound above it was in bad shape, but at least it had stopped bleeding.

“This metal…”

“What about it?” Stiles asked, trying to keep his mind active so he wouldn’t go in vampire faintland.

“I’m not sure, it’s some kind of alloy. I’m not sure what it’s doing to you.”

“Well, for one it fucking hurts,” Stiles panted-laughed.

Derek took more of the pain away. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I’m going to have to take it out. The other one looked better after I pulled the arrow out.”

“Do it,” Stiles said.

“It’s going to hurt. The other one was bad and you were unconscious.” Derek frowned, leaning closer to inspect the wound.

“That’s okay, Sourwolf, I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose.” He lifted his hand and cradled Derek’s cheek for a second to reassure him. Derek was important, he was his Alpha, he shouldn’t be this worried about him.

“Hold on to my shoulder,” he instructed. He paused for a second, then lifted the t-shirt he’d taken off Stiles. “Here, bite on this, it won’t do much but it might help.”

Doing as instructed, Stiles braced himself. There was nothing to prepare him for the blinding pain he felt as Derek wiggled the arrow the tiniest bit. It was going to be agony, Stiles knew. He clenched his hand on the Alpha’s shoulder and held on for dear life.

Derek was distressed. He felt it in the bond pack, he felt it under his fingers, he felt it in the air, he  _smelled_ it in the room, he heard it in his heartbeat. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. The two you killed, and one of them bled to death.” He pulled once, sharply, and Stiles wanted to die. “The others two killed themselves before I could stop them, I wish I could have saved one of them for you to feed.” He pulled again, the spiked arrowhead burning on the way out.

Stiles was begging for death now. Silently, he hoped. He was pretty sure it was silently, he had no strength to form words out loud.

“I’m a bad Alpha,” Derek muttered. It could have been Stiles’s imagination, but between lidded eyes he saw the pained expression on the werewolf’s face.

Derek pulled the arrow out completely, and Stiles screamed as loud as he could, biting into the shredded t-shirt. The pain was sharp, then continuous. He bled borrowed blood he couldn’t afford to lose – his Alpha’s hands flew up to push on the open wound. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Derek repeated, cradling Stiles’s head as it went to roll backwards.

“No,” Stiles managed, feeling his throat burn with hunger. “Best ever,” he pushed out, hand still clenched on Derek’s shoulder, unaware of how much it hurt him.

“Stiles,” Derek started, “if you just open your mouth and lean forward a bit, you can feed on me, I wouldn’t mind and –”

“No,” he barked back.

“Don’t be –”

“I said no!”

Derek shook his head, opening his mouth to argue. Then his frown cleared and he gently pushed Stiles back into the worn cushions. “I’ll be right back, Stiles, okay?” he asked, getting up. “Right back, don’t you go anywhere now,” he added.

Stiles huffed in amusement and instantly regretted. The pain was there, infinitesimally less debilitating, but still mostly unbearable. “Dude,  _how?_ ” The scoff came from the kitchen, Stiles heard it clearly. It was familiarity, that’s what it was. He was alive and really not well, and perhaps not even alive, but he was  _alive_.

“Don’t call me dude.” The werewolf knelt in front of the sofa again, ripping a bit of plastic and Stiles could  _smell_  it. “Open your mouth,” Derek instructed.

He checked that it wasn’t a throat, even though it was stupid — he would have been able to smell the skin, hear the blood racing – and latched on to the straw that was offered to him. Instantly, he could feel strength return to his body as he gulped down the blood he was given. It wasn’t enough, his entire chest ached as he swallowed again and again. But it was better, he was better. He paused to readjust his head, looking at the straw longingly. “Like a Capri Sun for leeches,” he said quietly.

Derek tsked, as Derek was prone to do. “I had this for absolute emergencies. It’s the only one, though, we were going to get more next week. I’m sorry,” Derek said for the millionth time.

“Mhmm, shtop it,” Stiles grunted, a sound halfway between a whine and an annoyed huff. Then he realised. Despite the pain, his right arm – slightly less painful, although there wasn’t an inch of his body that didn’t hurt – shot up and he covered his bloody lips with his hand. “Sorry, I forgot.”

There was clear confusion on the werewolf’s face. “Why are you apologising for?” Then a pause. “Oh.” Then he frowned. “Stiles, really?” Then he cradled his head again in what was quickly becoming Stiles’s favourite touch ever. “I don’t mind,” he said gently.

“It’s not right, it’s unnatural.”

Derek wolfed out then, an eyebrow shot up in an exasperated-mocking expression. It was made ridiculous by the distinct lack of eyebrow hair, the ridge replacing his normally extra-expressive thick eyebrows not quite doing the job. “I’m a fucking werewolf,  _really_?”

Stiles laughed around the straw, the slurping now getting moderately obscene as he neared the last bit of the blood bag. His hand was still covering his mouth, and Derek, now human again, pulled it away gently. “I’m –”

“You need to feed. I’ve got plenty of blood and accelerated healing. Just get those fangs out and feed already.” Derek had clearly switched to the authoritative voice now.

“No,” Stiles said firmly. All the little strength he got back he put in that one word.

“Stop being so damn stubborn!”

“Derek, no,” he insisted.

The Alpha was trying his hardest to be patient. “Okay. Okay, no. Why?” The silence he was met with wasn’t helping the situation. “Because the way I see it it’s a perfect situation, I’m right here and willing and able to help. Either way, you won’t make it to the preserve and I won’t let you die.”

Stiles whined quietly and waved the empty blood bag. “This is going to be enough, Sourwolf. I’ll make it,” he said with a smile. A weak smile.

“Bullshit,” Derek countered, sitting up from his heels to stare Stiles down. “What’s the real reason?” He opened his mouth to add something, decided against it, then pushed through his clenched jaw. “Is my blood not good enough for you?”

Despite the pain, Stiles stood up instantly. “What? No! What? What the fuck? No!” If it had been anyone other than Derek, he may have thought he was being manipulated, but the self-esteem was weak with this one. It was a genuine concern.

“Then?”

He sighed. “I can’t feed on my Alpha, it’s against all hierarchical spoken and unspoken rules. You’d be vulnerable, what if someone attacked us? I’m useless, you’re incapacitated, and we’d both be fucked.”

“Your wards are strong, you’d get back on your feet in no time and I’d heal just as quickly,” Derek rebutted.

Stiles was getting increasingly agitated. “Okay, maybe but also. Also, remember what happened when I fed from that stray?” He was looking down now, folding the plastic blood bag into half, then into half again, opening it up and repeating.

After initial confusion, Derek’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not actually risking death –  _permanent_ death – because you’re worried you might get hard around me. We’ll put a cushion on your lap if you’re that concerned, just feed already –”

“For fuck’s sake! It’s the feeding ritual for mates, okay?” Stiles shouted and immediately collapsed into a coughing fit. He held on to his sides, trying to stop before he passed out with pain again.

“The what?” the Alpha asked, holding Stiles’s torso still, taking as much pain away as possible.

Eventually, he managed to reply. “In the Greek texts. There’s a bit about feeding from your mate and it creates a bond during the feeding and it’s fulfilling and pleasurable and look, I can’t presume to or that you’re my – but I don’t want to – and it’s you and – it’s more than getting my dick hard, okay? It’s intimate and it makes you vulnerable and you’re my Alpha and you’re not – you’re more important – it’s more important you stay strong and able – I would never – I can’t presume to –”

Derek covered his mouth with his massive hand, the only way he knew was effective in stopping Stiles when he was Nervous Blabbering. It was bad enough before he didn’t need to breathe, now it was just endless. “It’s okay,” he said, kindness lighting his eyes. “I got you,” he said quietly, “I got you, just…” He pulled back and looked the young man in the eyes. His hand moved to caress his cheek. “You’re the most important to me.” He brought his head forward and touched his cheek to Stiles’s.

In the quiet surrounding them, Derek’s blood raced warm and unsettled under his skin, loud enough to fill the room. His heartbeat echoed louder than Stiles’s pain. He whimpered when the werewolf moved back, the warmth leaving him.

“Let me provide for you,” Derek whispered as he moved back. His head slid to the side, eyes fixed on Stiles’s. His throat arched, tendons taut, and he breathed steadily, a decided look etched on his face. “Please feed,” he said and there was so much vulnerability in his voice, Stiles had to hold him.

His arms snaked around the werewolf’s head, holding him to his bare chest. There was pain still, sharp and pressing, but the connection he felt with his Alpha was primordial. Perhaps always, but even more so now. The werewolf was kneeling in front of him, throat barred, vulnerable. He was trusting Stiles with his life, with knowing when to stop, he was adamant he would provide for the vampire, he was caring and loving and  _perfect_.

“Derek, I can’t…” Stiles whispered.

The werewolf growled, the sound reverberating throughout his entire rib cage. “Do it!”

Stiles’s knees buckled. Tenderly, he lowered his lips, fangs elongating and grazing the skin. “Are you sure?”

Derek nodded and lifted his throat slightly, pushing it up against the vampire’s lips. Within seconds, he felt the burn of fangs piercing his skin. It was painful, yet unlike any pain he’d ever experienced. He tensed as he felt the burn spread from the wound, flourishing up on his jawline and down his collarbone. The fangs were gone then, Stiles whispering apologies in his ear, holding on to his shoulders. Derek shook his head and pushed back to the vampire’s mouth. “It’s fine, I’m fine, do it,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said once more and the burn was back in Derek’s skin. He felt the way the fangs made room for his blood to trickle out, then they were gone again. The vampire’s lips latched to his skin, the tongue caressing the bites as Stiles scooped droplets of blood out.

The wave of pleasure hit Derek so hard, he couldn’t help the moan. He wasn’t ready for it, he’d never even imagined anything could feel like that. It was as if the entirety of the universe had crawled under his skin through the small incisions Stiles made on the side of his throat and proceeded to explode. He felt his very existence focused solely on the gentle tongue lapping at his skin.

On his part, the vampire wasn’t ready either. Like,  _holy fuck_ , he wasn’t ready. Like, the only other time when he had tasted werewolf blood it was out of dire necessity, not unlike this time round, but also this time it was  _Derek_  and everyone and their mother, across the entirety of the world, potentially in a couple of parallel universes knew that Stiles was adamant Derek was the most beautiful creature in history. And that the sun rose from behind his moody eyebrows and small smile. This was  _Derek_ , with the sweetest blood, the most appealing scent, the warmth of a thousand hugs, the most calming pulse in the world, even as it raced. Stiles was in heaven.

He felt arms circle his torso, holding him tight as he fed. His strength was returning steadily, he could feel the pain dull and instead pleasure bloomed throughout his body. In spite of the euphoria, he managed to pull away to allow the werewolf’s blood to replenish. It wasn’t a fast process, but Stiles wasn’t about to drain the love of his life —

“Alpha,” he whispered, delirious by now with the contentedness he felt. “My Alpha,” he said, and proceeded to pepper Derek’s earlobe with soft kisses, ignoring the blood smears.

Derek moaned. “Stiles, what are you — this is so good. I want this forever,” he replied eventually, uncharacteristically vocal about his feelings. His muscles were taut, veins standing out all over - of course Stiles noticed them. He moved back a little, enough to look at the vampire’s face. His hand cupped Stiles’s cheek. “You’re so amazing,” he whispered, eyes wide as if in genuine awe.

Stiles smiled then, lips reddened by the blood, his face filling slowly with a modicum of colour. He was content, feeling stronger, cock hard and heart full of love for the beautiful man still kneeling in front of him. There was lurking sadness behind the smile, though. “It’s the feeding bond,” he explained. “It makes you feel like this.”

Derek’s panicked expression would have been alarming if he hadn’t immediately started talking, forcing the focus on what he was saying. “What? No! I mean yes, but what about —“ he paused, hand going to cover the side of his throat where he could feel warm blood still dripping out. “What about all the other times?” he soldiered on. “What about when you sit on my floor and hum or when you cook for all of us or when you smile every time you wake me up?” He bent forward then, forehead resting on Stiles’s collarbone, the wounds under it closing up slowly. “What about every other day when I desperately care about you?” As soon as he pulled back, his eyes found Stiles’s. He moved his bloody fingers away from his throat and lifted them to the vampire’s lips. “Open.”

Stiles had no choice but to comply, mesmerised by the way his Alpha chose to feed him, lapping at the blood on the werewolf’s fingers. Unable to break eye contact, he pulled the tip of Derek’s index finger in his mouth, sucking on it gently, tongue still caressing the fingerprint where the blood had been. Derek shuddered, then presented his middle finger to the red lips in front of him, smiling when it was greedily accepted.

There was the tiniest of nips under his second knuckle, then the burn, then the sting, then the pleasure. Derek’s other hand rested on Stiles’s thigh, gripping to try and steady himself. Stiles let go of the fingers, opening the palm to kiss it, then moving to the wrist where he could feel the werewolf’s pulse better. He nipped again, sucking greedily, licking and smearing drops of blood before cleaning them. Then up the man’s large forearm, marred with a couple of scars, resting his lips in the dip of his elbow. He looked up.

“Alpha?”

Derek nodded. This time, Stiles kept his fang in plain sight. He dragged it slowly, thinly breaking skin in a clean fine line. It didn’t hurt more than a paper cut would, and Derek shivered as he waited for the burn to settle under his skin. He knew what came afterwards. Stiles looked up, making sure Derek watched him as he licked the blood.

“Please,” Derek managed, trembling as pleasure took over him, visibly struggling to hold himself back.

Stiles smiled, half-kind, half-flirty. Almost a smirk. “Ah, yes?” He pulled Derek forward by the elbow, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. Stiles’s lips rested on the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Alpha?” he asked cheekily.

“Yes,” Derek breathed. “Yes!”

So Stiles moved. Minutely, enough to bring his red lips on Derek’s, pausing for a couple of seconds to revel in the feeling of finally,  _finally_  kissing this man he’d been lusting and pining after. He bent his head slightly, working Derek’s lips with his own. They opened immediately, kissing back hungrily. It was unclear when they readjusted their positions, but Stiles was suddenly aware of Derek’s large hands on his shoulder blades holding him tightly, bare chest flushed against the werewolf’s still-clothed wide torso. Derek was kissing into his mouth furiously, tongue circling his. His affected breaths brushed his cheek and Stiles’s hips buckled helplessly.

He held Derek’s head gingerly as the man moved to scent him, kissing his neck and collarbone and moving to the closing wounds. “Alpha…” he whimpered when he felt his tongue chase the dull pain away. “I’ve been dreaming of this for – years – for  _ah fuck_  –” Derek’s lips closed around a hardened nipple, effectively shutting Stiles up.

He felt himself being pushed back into the sofa, Derek peppering his entire chest with small bites. He shuffled forward to give himself more leeway, then moved back up to kiss Stiles again. “So fucking perfect,” he whispered against the vampire’s lips. One of his hands flew up to the bulge in Stiles’s jeans, gripping it teasingly. “For years, hm?” he asked as he squeezed, opening the top button with his thumb.

“Fuck, yes, years! Derek –” he gasped as the werewolf stopped moving his hand and pulled back to look at Stiles “– Alpha,” he tried again, and the movement resumed. “Alpha,  _please!_ ”

“Good boy,” Derek praised. He popped open the other buttons and pulled Stiles’s jeans down, along with his boxers. Stiles was not the greatest fan of his body, but to watch Derek rake his eyes over every inch of exposed skin was mesmerising. He felt the werewolf’s fingers travel from beauty mark to beauty mark, softly revealing more skin. When he finally managed to undress Stiles completely, he pushed his knees further apart and bent his head to scent the skin on Stiles’s inner thigh. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, pressing lazy kisses all the way to the hipbone.

“I’m begging you – I’m so – please –”

“I got you,” Derek repeated his earlier words. The claw on his index finger nipped the skin on his thumb and he lifted his hand to Stiles’s lips once more. “Suck,” he said hurriedly before bending forward to lick the precum that had trickled down Stiles’s neglected cock.

Among whimpers, Stiles started sucking, holding on to Derek’s hand for dear life when the werewolf finally took him in his mouth and licked the leaking slit. His Alpha pushed down with wet lips, hollowing his cheeks as he went, sucking him in. He finally reached the end of his torturous journey and Stiles couldn’t help but ogle him, with his nose buried in the hairs at the base of Stiles’s dick, breathing in deeply, cheeks hollowed, cheekbones sharp, eyes shut.

He swallowed around Stiles’s dick and to the vampire’s complete and utter mortification, he bucked his hips in Derek’s throat. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled around the thumb still bleeding in his mouth. He went to pull back when Derek reached the small of his back and pushed him in the tight opening of his throat. There was the smallest sign of a gag, and Stiles panicked because that’s who Stiles was. But then Derek opened his eyes, bright red and commanding, and Stiles thought he’d come then and there.

He let go with a filthy pop. “I’m going to open my mouth,” he started, licking the spit off his lips, “and you’re going to fuck my throat, okay?”

Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak so nodded, the taste of Derek’s blood still lingering on his tongue, the bond caressing the inside of his very soul. Derek kissed the tip of his dick, sucking loudly on the sensitive skin there. He followed through on what he’d said and opened his mouth, inviting Stiles in.

It was tentative at first - small movements, aiming to show Derek he was being good for him, but ultimately restrained. He gasped through clenched teeth, hips involuntarily pushing more dick up Derek’s throat - he felt a finger right under his balls, fondling them up gingerly and a second later another finger tapping his puckered hole, pressing gently against it.

“Derek, please! Inside, I’m gonna —“ Stiles starting fucking up harder into Derek’s mouth and throat, prompting an appreciative hum from the man.

The werewolf lined his finger up with Stiles cock, sucking it enough to wet it and brought it back to Stiles’s hole. He used his elbow to open his legs further, pushing the finger in to the first knuckle, then the second. It wasn’t enough to burn properly, or to let him find Stiles’s prostate, but together with the tight heat of Derek’s mouth and the way his cheeks hollowed as Stiles fucked his mouth, it was enough to make Stiles come.

“Derek — I’m —  _Alpha!_ ” He moaned loudly, hands flying up to hold the werewolf’s head in place, dick pushed as far up in his throat as it could go and he came with a long and guttural moan. It was the most blinding pleasure he’d ever experienced, his entire body trembling as he spurted his load into Derek’s mouth. Even as he was maddened with pleasure, he could still feel the man’s throat constricting rhythmically to swallow as much as possible.

The aftermath was foggy. Stiles felt the drag of Derek’s lips as he moved to let go of his spent dick. He bucked pathetically once more, unable to help it as the stimulation became too much. When Derek’s face came into focus, Stiles thought he was somehow going to come again.

The werewolf looked wrecked. Lips swollen, hair mussed, spit and cum that had escaped his eager mouth glistening on his beard. “Good?” he asked cheekily.

“The best,” Stiles replied, and got up from his post-coital slouch to kiss the wetness off Derek’s face. He had been too distracted to notice what the werewolf had been doing, but even as he licked the mess away, savouring all the different tastes, he gasped loudly when he looked down.

Derek was still kneeling, legs apart, cock out and pushed up by his jeans. It was hard - large, thick and veiny, the head standing out as it curved upwards a little. His thighs were trembling as he panted with need. His t-shirt - still on for some fucking reason - was half-soaked in sweat and droplets of blood and spit. It had ridden up on one side, showing the damp muscles leading to – Derek rubbing the glistening head with his palm, trying to create some friction.

For the first time in a long while, Stiles was hungry for something other than blood. “None of that, get up here,” Stiles urged as he slid down, kissing him deeply when they were both on the floor. He pawed at the top, pulling it upwards and trying to get Derek out of it. When he finally succeeded, he sighed happily. “I love… this,” Stiles waved his hands at the werewolf’s entire torso.

“What, this old thing?” Derek asked innocently, flexing his pecs jokingly.

Stiles couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him, but even as he watched fondly, his hands cupped Derek’s neck then moved down on his shoulders, then down his arms. “How are you real?” he asked reverently. He went back to Derek’s collarbones then, down his chest where the hair was kept trimmed and neat. His fingers ghosted over the man’s nipples, down his hard abs.

Derek shivered as the vampire leaned in to kiss the place he’d bitten earlier. “Stiles? Would you like to feed some more?” He presented his throat, anticipation unusually present in his voice.  

Stiles moaned. “Up on the sofa facing that way.” He seemed far too commanding for how nervous he was, even as lust took over him once more.

“Bossy,” Derek mumbled, but did as he was told.

“Only if you allow it.” Stiles watched the expanse of wide naked back with hungry eyes. He pulled Derek’s jeans down to his mid-thigh, essentially trapping him like that. He went straight to kneading the asscheeks in front ot him. “Having to watch you when you walked away… every time…” He was rambling now. “So I can watch this ass… I used to sit facing the stairs so I can see you go up like some sort of perv.”

Derek gasped when Stiles jokingly bit into the outer side of his ass. He shifted more weight on his forearms, pushed his ass higher in the air. “Please,” he whispered meekly.

“Okay, logistics… Lift,” Stiles said, patting the side of the werewolf’s thigh. “And the knees, okay, there we go!” Derek was fully naked now, socks and shoes gone as well. “Beautiful,” Stiles gasped. He tapped the inner side of Derek’s thighs, getting him to spread his legs.

The werewolf was fully on display now. The small of his back dipped when Stiles grabbed his cheeks and parted them further. He felt a finger travel from the top of his crack down to his hole, where it pressed on it gently. He heard Stiles spit, the filthiness of it making his cock ache with neglect. He felt the wetness travel the same road the vampire’s finger had, then a more urgent press on his needy hole.

He went to grab his dick, but Stiles was not having it. “No no, Sourwolf, let me do this right,” he told him, the commanding tone subtle. They would have time to talk dynamics, but right now Derek was desperate for any stimulation. He would take anything the other man gave him as long as he gave it to him  _then_. He whined when the touch was too teasing and not definitive enough. “I got you,” Stiles repeated his earlier words and dived in.

Derek barely recognised his own moan. It was desperate and downright filthy. Stiles held on to his balls with a tender hand while his tongue flattened on Derek’s hole. He licked in broad strokes, trying to get it as wet as possible. Then it sharpened, pushing in slightly, alternating between focused and wide licks. Derek was mad with need. “Stiles, please,” he heard himself beg, uncertain what for.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the vampire assured and pressed a wet finger inside. He worked it in and out, a bit more every time. Derek took it, his hungry hole swallowing everything he was given. Stiles added another finger, careful not to hurt the man. He pushed them in maddeningly slow, dragging them on the upper wall as he pulled them back, then rotating them a bit. He scissored carefully, opening Derek up to him. “So hot,” he muttered, adding his tongue to the fingers in an effort to lubricate Derek’s hole further.

On his part, the werewolf was gone. He had shifted to the side a little, face practically buried in the back of the sofa as he pushed back against Stiles’s fingers. “More,” he managed in between moans.

Stiles sighed longingly, dick hard once more. He scrambled to his feet, planting a knee next to Derek’s to keep his legs spread. He pulled the werewolf up and on the back of the sofa, slowing his fingers. “You want another finger, Sourwolf? You want me to open you up more? Are you desperate to come?” Stiles was whispering in his ear now, tonguing his earlobe.

 _“Yes,”_  Derek almost barked. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. He pushed back on the fingers, hips stuttering when Stiles twisted and curled the digits and – “there!” Derek moaned.

“Here, hmm?” Stiles asked hot breath right in his ear. His fingers pressed against the prostate relentlessly.

“Yes! I need more.” He pushed back hoping to get more friction, but Stiles had almost pulled his fingers out completely.

“None of that,” the vampire said when Derek’s hand went to his cock. “Give them here,” he asked, and held Derek’s both wrists with no real strength. It was a power move, they both knew it. Stiles especially didn’t expect this power shift to be a constant thing. At least he hoped it wouldn’t be. He had dreamt of submitting to his Alpha for ages, even if it wasn’t in a scene - there was something about Derek’s commanding nature that did things to him. Stiles removed the fingers completely, bringing them up to lick them in front of Derek’s mostly unfocused eyes.

“Fuck.”

Stiles pushed a single finger back in. “Is this not enough?” he teased, nosing behind Derek’s ear to scent him the way all the werewolves in his pack did. He added another one. “How about this? No?” Derek nodded, then moaned when he felt another finger teasing his hole. “What about another one, Sourwolf?”

He left Derek for a second to spit on the partly opened hole again. When he came back up, he went straight to licking Derek’s throat, along the bulged veins there. “I can smell your blood,” he whispered in his ear as his fingers sped up. The heel of his palm wiggled to keep his cheeks spread and he started fingerfucking Derek in earnest. “You’re so good to me, Alpha,” Stiles told him. “You’re so good, providing for us, for  _me_ \- giving me your blood and your mouth, letting me pleasure you in the best way I know…” Derek pushed back in sync with Stiles’s blunt nails tapping his prostate every time. “So good,” Stiles praised once more and stretched to kiss him, wet and filthy and amazing.

Derek moved his head to the side, presenting his throat once more. It didn’t matter how mad with pleasure he was, it was ingrained in his very nature to not be this vulnerable, especially as an Alpha. This was a conscious decision and Stiles felt like crying with the implications. “Bite… me…” Derek said through clenched teeth. “Feed,” he added in a pleading tone.

Stiles wasn’t sure if this was for his benefit or for Derek’s, but he did anyway. Mindful of where he bit, sharp fangs puncturing the skin on Derek’s throat once more. Sweet sweet blood filled his mouth and he sucked it greedily. The filthy noises filled the room amidst moans, the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of Derek’s loose hole, the way he gurgled blood hungrily.

Pleasure ran through his veins, straight down to his dick. Derek’s fangs had dropped, mouth open in pleasure. His claws were firmly planted in the sofa, back tense, and when Stiles pressed down on his prostate particularly hard, he half-wolfed out as he came with a roar, untouched and delirious with pleasure. Part of Stiles was shocked, the other desperate for release. He let go of Derek’s wrists to pump his own dick a couple of times, and came all over Derek’s ass grunting.

The aftermath was quiet apart from the heavy breathing. Out of habit, Stiles panted along with Derek, even though his lungs were not burning for air. The werewolf was wrecked, the filthy moan he let out when Stiles pulled his fingers out going straight to the vampire’s spent dick. It twitched a little, but even with the supernatural and Stiles’s relentless lust, it needed a break.

He licked the open wounds clean, drenching them in enough saliva that they would stop bleeding soon. “Wait here,” he said quietly. Derek nodded and Stiles was gone for less than a minute before he returned with a damp washcloth and a towel. He wiped Derek’s asscheeks, then gently patted his tender hole clean. He tried his best to get the cum off the sofa, but it seemed it had partly soaked in already. “We might need to reupholster the sofa,” he said just as quietly.

Despite the contentedness he felt, both because of the bond and as a result of just having sex with Derek, Stiles’s anxiety seeped in. He busied himself with cleaning as much of the surfaces as possible, trying to not voice any of his concerns. Perhaps Derek was mad at him. Or perhaps he’d hurt the werewolf, pushed for too much. Perhaps the bond was too much, the intimacy too real or –

“I can literally hear you overthink,” Derek’s lazy voice came from the back of the sofa, where he was resting his upper body still trying to gather his wits.

“No, you can’t – unless you’ve developed new powers from having some vampire venom in you and even then, for the millionth time: this is not some Twilight shit, Sourwolf,” he said, immediately going into rambling mode.

Derek snorted. “Okay, not literally, but I know how your mind gets.” He slid back onto his heels then looked back at the wet spot on the sofa. “This never happened,” he said.

Stiles swore he could feel his heart break. “Of course,” he said quickly. “I totally get it, it would fuck up the pack dynamic and now that we’ve finally got some stability we would definitely not want that.  _You_ would definitely not want that,” he corrected himself. “Like, the pack is the most important, of course, and they must never know and –” He got up and pulled his discarded jeans back on as quickly as possible. “I’m gonna go, gonna look up some service to sort the sofa out as soon as I get home - I’ll link you some good places and I can cover the costs fully.” He looked around for a t-shirt before remembering it had been shredded to shit. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he had bottoms on. If the police stopped him his dad would find out but driving around shirtless wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. “Okay, I’m gonna –”

“Stiles, what the fuck are you on about?” Derek asked sharply.

“What?”

“Well?”

“You said this never happened and that’s totally fair, I can’t even disagree –”

Derek huffed. “I meant coming untouched, you absolute idiot!” he said, pointing to his lap with both hands in a ‘this right here you imbecile’ gesture.

“Oh,” Stiles managed, shoulders slumping as part of the tension left his body.

“Yeah,  _oh_. Idiot,” Derek said affectionately. “Stiles, in what universe would I have just had the best sex of my life and let you go home?”

“Well how the fuck would I know that – wait, best sex?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he said, flipping over on his back and settling on the sofa. “And take those off, they’re offending,” he said, pointing to his the half buttoned jeans.

Stiles’s lust returned with a vengeance. Still, he held on to the towel and looked around as if trying to find something else to do. “I’m not…” he trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

Derek frowned. “Unless you don’t want to,” he said, lifting up on his elbows.

“No! That’s not it, I just…” Once more, words failed him.

Derek sighed and fell back into the sofa. His hands went behind his head, making himself comfortable. His chest muscles flexed as he moved, thick arms on display. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, reverence clear in his voice.

Stiles ducked his head, then went to push his jeans off. Naked with someone else wasn’t his comfort zone, not even (or especially) after sex, not after he’d done what he’d done. But he complied, bracing himself against the shame. “I’m not,” he mumbled, hoping Derek wouldn’t pick it up.

He did and scoffed accordingly. “Come here.” He moved his arms down, stretched them out in an invitation for Stiles. He wiggled his fingers, reiterating what he said. “I want to cuddle and scent you and hold you,” Derek said.

It was severely uncharacteristically vocal of him, but then again, perhaps this is what he was like with his lovers. Is this what Stiles was to Derek? He still went, unable to deny the werewolf’s calling. He kneeled between Derek’s legs, then slowly stretched on top of him. Despite the height difference, they lined up nicely together. The man’s arms went around him immediately. “Hi,” he said shyly.

“Hi,” the werewolf replied, and caught his lips in a lazy kiss.

“Cuddles, huh?” Stiles asked after they parted.

“Yes, cuddles,” Derek repeated. “I was thinking about the sofa,” he started, then went to nuzzle Stiles’s neck.

“I too think about the sofa often. More so now,” Stiles replied with mock seriousness.

Derek laughed as he pressed kissed into the skin he could reach. He pulled Stiles further up on him to get better access. “We could move it to my bedroom, get a new one for the living room.”

“Oh?” He could feel his cock twitch.

“You know, for… future times,” Derek explained.

_“Oh.”_

“Unless you don’t want to and that’s absolutely fine,” Derek hurriedly added.

“Why would I not want to move the sofa to your bedroom?”

“Okay, now you’re just playing dumb.” Derek pulled back to look the younger man in the eye.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, okay, a little,” he admitted. “Future times, huh?”

“If you’re under the impression I can live without doing this again you’re wrong,” Derek informed him. “Again, unless you –”

“Derek I’ve liked-liked you for years now. I figured if you didn’t go for me when I was human, there was no way it would happen now,” he confessed. “There will never be a time when I don’t want to, okay?”

Derek smiled at him then, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Why would I not want you now?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It’s not right,” Stiles replied. “ _I’m_  not right and my feeding isn’t –”

“Oh my god!” Derek exclaimed. “We’re all some sort of fucked up, Stiles. You think any of us are right?” he asked, mostly rhetorically.

“Well, at least the majority of this pack is werewolves, I’m such an odd one out. And the ones who aren’t don’t go sucking blood to survive!”

Derek held him tighter. “I like-like you,” he whispered. “I’ve liked-liked you when you were human, I like-like you now,” he said, using Stiles’s own terminology. He kissed Stiles’s earshell wetly, then continued. “I want to fuck you into the mattress. I want you to bite me before I come, I want to provide for you and make you come. I want you to ride me so I can watch you closely,” he added as an afterthought.

He was hard again now. “Wow, okay. Uhm, yes to all,” Stiles managed. “Are you like this with all your hook-ups?”

“Not a hook-up,” Derek clarified. “And no, only with the ones who don’t try to kill me,” he joked.

“I did have you arrested,” Stiles reminded him.

“Yeah, I have some rope I’ve been dreaming of using to pay you back for that. If you’re into that?” Derek asked almost shyly.

“You have Stiles-named rope,” the vampire repeated. “Yes, I’m into that. Have you met me?” he asked, almost giddy at the prospect.

“I have,” Derek confirmed with a smile. “I’m so glad I have. And I don’t, Stiles, I don’t normally do this,” he said, gesturing around them in a generic vague way. “But you’re special, you’ve always been.”

Stiles ducked his head again, trying to hide from the intense look. “Okay, yeah. Okay,” he repeated in an attempt to ground himself. “You hungry?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“For you,” Derek answered immediately, smirk in place, eyes lit up with amusement.

“Unbelievable,” Stiles mumbled. He moved his hips sharply against Derek’s once to prove a point. “But honestly, same,” he added.

Derek laughed. “Good. I’m gonna take you upstairs and fuck you now, that okay?”

“Very,” Stiles replied, cock filling even more at the idea.

“We can find a new sofa later,” Derek promised, and got up to move them to his bedroom. “I’ve been getting complaints this is too small anyway,” he said in between kisses.

“Do we tell the pack?” Stiles found himself asking, unable to banish the pressing thought.

Derek stopped halfway up the stairs and looked at the vampire, predatory glint in his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll be able to smell me on you from a mile away.”

“Promise?” Stiles asked cheekily, and laughed when Derek slapped his ass lightly.

“Yeah,  _hard_ promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, if you don't have anything nice to say, make sure it's at least constructive. If it can't be constructive, shove it up your arse. Thanks for reading, much love xx
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://llexeh.tumblr.com/)!


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